


Broken Sky

by SUPERreader



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Castiel and Drug Use, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, End!verse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY JUST FYI, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Supernatural - Freeform, Unrequited Love, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SUPERreader/pseuds/SUPERreader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the end of the world and Dean is struggling to balance his emotions and the responsibility of running Camp Chitaqua. Cas is pissed at Dean and Chuck knows something's up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***UPDATE***  
> I changed this a lot so it is somewhat different hope you still like it...
> 
> ALSO I DELETED THE OTHER CHAPTERS BECAUSE THERE WILL BE CHANGES BUT DON'T WORRY THEY'RE GONNA COME BACK AND BE BETTER THAN EVER ;) (hopefully)

There was a strange wailing sound coming from the next room. Dean looked at the wall separating the strategy room from the rec room with a mix of distaste and confusion. Trying to operate within a place that doubled as a military base and a refugee camp was not always a particularly easy task. Dean moved from his authoritative stance at the head of the table to stride over to the wall, bang on the thin partition, and yell, “KEEP IT DOWN WOULD YA!? WE’RE HAVING AN IMPORTANT MEETING OVER HERE!”

    Everyone seated around the table shot dismayed glances at one another. Lately it had become apparent that an upset Dean wasn’t a good Dean to be around. The keening continued for another couple of seconds but then tapered out into quiet giggles. Taking advantage of the the relative quiet Dean continued speaking to his assembled fighters, “...In short: I know our past attempts at getting the Colt have been futile and, trust me, I am just as frustrated as the rest of you...”

Dean paused, making meaningful eye contact with his comrades, “But I really think we have a shot at getting it this time.”

    “Haha, a ‘shot’…”

   Dean turned to stare at Chuck with an incredulous expression. Chuck looked away and scratched the back of his neck as he muttered, “It’s funny because we have a ‘shot’ at… getting a gun… because that’s a—you shoot things…? It’s a joke…” Chuck finished with a sighed, “Nevermind…”

    Dean glared at nothing in particular for a couple seconds then continued, “Okay, we go in under the cover of night, kill anyone—or anything—that gets in our way, get the Colt, and get out. Any questions?”

    None of the four fighters Dean had assembled for the next mission—or Chuck—had any problems with this plan and said nothing.

    “Great.” Dean said without any emotion, “Be ready to move out tomorrow at noon—no exceptions.”

   With this unspoken dismissal the group filed out of the room leaving Dean alone with Chuck. Dean circumnavigated the large, rectangular table that, over the course of his leadership, had morphed into the military strategy headquarters and sank into one of the folding chairs near Chuck. As if he was trying to read Dean’s mind, Chuck squinted at the eldest Winchester brother and exhaled heavily before tentatively asking, “Before we get into the details about mission logistics I just wanted to ask if everything is okay with you… It seems like you’ve been a little on edge recently.”

    Dean crossed his arms and huffed out a single laugh that was empty of anything remotely resembling amusement, “What is okay? If you hadn’t noticed we’re in the middle of the friggin’ _Apocalypse_!”

    Chuck raised a skeptical eyebrow at the camp leader’s go-to excuse for anything and everything that Dean wanted to avoid talking about and went on.

“You and I both know that has nothing to do with how you’ve been acting recently. I don’t know what is causing you to be so bitchy—holing yourself up in your cabin, yelling at everyone over nothing, and distracting yourself with a never-ending slew of meaningless missions. And I know how much you hate to talk about your emotions—hell I should know! I wrote enough about your daddy issues back in the day! But you have to figure it—whatever _it_ is—out soon and go back to being the strong, capable leader you were up until a few months ago! We are quickly running out of the most basic of supplies. Maybe instead of looking for the Colt you should be hitting up convenience stores and giant outlets for any toilet paper that hasn’t been looted yet! You need to work this out or everything here will fall into chaos… ehrm… that is… even more chaos…”

   Even Chuck was shocked by his rant and had a bashful look on his face as his voice petered out. Where that had come from he had no idea. Even more surprising than the rant itself was the fact that while Chuck was talking, Dean hadn’t left the room or interrupted him to argue. Dean was just sitting back in his chair with a vaguely disbelieving expression on his face.

    “Damn Chuck,” Dean said, chuffing out a laugh, “Tell me how you really feel.”

With a pang of grief, Dean was reminded how it felt to be on the receiving end of one of Bobby’s good, old ‘Son, Get Your Head Out of Your Ass’ speeches.

    Dean shook his head as if preventing that train of thought while he stood up to leave and walked toward the door with a, “Huh, who knew you had that in ya?”

    “Dean, wait!”

   Chuck stood up too and moved to stop Dean before he made it out the door, but he was too late. Dean brushed past him and pushed the door open. Chuck watched, helpless to stop the retreat of their fearless leader.

Dean had become a man every bit as cold and calculating as he was powerful. Once upon a time, Dean had been a hunter’s version of happy—or at least content—and had, in turn, supported those who made him happy. Now though, Dean had nothing left. Losing John, Bobby, Sam, and so many others caused too much pain. Violent repression of emotion was the easiest way for Dean to cope—to function—in this not quite post-apocalyptic world. The prophet had noticed that this strategy of Dean’s tended to produce many explosive reactions and was starting to give Dean a certain reputation among his constituents.

Alone in the strategy room, Chuck mulled over Dean’s aspects of Dean’s recent and more distant past. With a fleeting pulse of anxiety Chuck realized there was probably no way Dean would, or could, ever open up to Chuck about what was putting him so on edge. He’d just have to find out the hard way...


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the drama.....!

Dean knew he would have to start being more mature and considerate about his words and actions as the leader of Camp Chitaqua. The fact that Chuck of all people could tell he was not completely focused was a bad sign. At least Chuck was on his side. To be honest, Chuck was probably mostly concerned about the well being of Camp Chitaqua’s inhabitants, not Dean.

Shit, Dean thought, I guess I really am slipping!

Chuck worrying about things that were Dean’s responsibility meant weakness on Dean’s part. If people living in the camp caught on to his disfunction another leader would be chosen and the whole camp would fall to ruin! This reality check put Dean in a bad mood as he trotted down the few steps from the Main Cabin’s porch to the ground. Just then, Cas, with a lazy grin plastered on his face, emerged onto the porch through the door adjacent to the one Dean had just left.

Well, Dean thought with a grimace, At least the weird sounds from the rec room make much, much more sense now. Ugh, I guess I won’t be playing pool any time soon...

   “Cas,” Dean greeted discreetly, jutting his chin out in a quick nod. Sadly, if he really was going to improve his leadership style, Dean couldn’t afford to ignore Cas’s hedonistic ways much longer. If Dean continued to do things the way he had been thus far, he would probably end up shooting someone’s head off—not a great thing for people in charge to be doing.

“Dean,” Cas replied with an acknowledging tilt of the head.

   “Everyone missed you at the meeting today,” Dean began. “We could’ve used some new input for creating our plan of attack. I think your tactical experience would have been really helpful.”

Dean waited at the bottom of the stairs for Cas to walk beside him.

“Oh, I’m sorry Dean… I thought my ‘filthy, hippy ass’ wasn’t welcome in your strategy meetings,” Cas mocked, his grin flashing into an acerbic fake smile before he could school his features into a blank slate.

   Perhaps Dean had mentioned something to Cas once or twice about his drug use, ratty clothing, and the fact that his orgies could be very disruptive to people trying to take care of their daily responsibilities “in peace goddammit!”...

“Aww, come on Cas,” Dean said with a forced smile, “I didn’t mean it like that!”

   Dean took a deep breath and tried to be mature and considerate as he said, “I just meant that… maybe you should tone down your… um…” Dean paused to gesture at all of Cas before exploding, “I don’t even know how to describe you!”

“Why do you even try?” Cas rebuked, a cold gleam in his eye, “Why does it matter to  _ you _ what  _ I _ do or how  _ I _ look?”

Cas started walking away, trying to put some distance between himself and Dean as he called back, “Hell Dean, you’re wasted half the time anyway! Don’t be so hypocritical.”

“Dammit Cas, just hold on a second!” Dean griped as he jerked into motion to catch up with the disheveled ex-angel. “I really do need your help on missions—you’re my best soldier—it doesn’t really matter how you act when you aren’t in the field, but sometimes I need you to be clear headed and to have some free time that isn’t strictly devoted to getting stoned or laid! I need you to help me so I can run this damn camp!”

   Dean finally caught up to Cas, grabbed his shoulder, and spun Cas around so they were face to face. Their little speed-walking contest had left them both, embarrassingly, a tad winded. As they caught their breath Dean searched Cas’s face for any sign that he was comprehending what Dean was telling him. The painful truth that Dean, for whatever reason, was not capable of running a whole town lay right under the conversation’s surface. Cas alternated between staring at the ground and staring at the trees surrounding the path to avoid making eye contact with Dean. Since their cabins were separated from the most populated part of the camp they were on a path that wasn’t used by anyone except Cas, Chuck, and Dean.

Luckily for them, this meant no one heard Cas shout, “I’ll think about it okay!? Just get off my case man,” or any other part of their squabble.

Cas still wouldn’t look at Dean and when he continued holding onto Cas’s shoulder Cas finally made eye contact with Dean as he growled, “Let go of me Dean,” through a clenched jaw.

   The quiet power that emanated from Cas in that moment reminded Dean of what Cas used to be and Dean let his hand slide from Cas’s shoulder and back to his side. Dean took a deep breath before he glanced away then looked back at Cas.

“You’ll tell me what you decide soon, right?” Dean asked with a beseeching stare.

   Cas started to walk down the path, “Maybe…” he called back as Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and fought the urge to shoot something.

“‘Maybe’ like ‘maybe you’ll tell me soon’ or ‘maybe’ like ‘maybe you’ll help me out!?’” Dean asked Cas’s retreating form.

“Just ‘maybe.’”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An inside look at Cas's thoughts on Dean (among other things)...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **S/O to Darth V
> 
> Sorry it took so long to update it's definitely a losing battle but over time I will definitely create a finished product...  
> If you like the story please Mark For Later or Bookmark!
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me I'll definitely update (tentative sooner than later)

Cas knew Dean wanted him to be more involved with his little boy band of mercenaries but Cas doubted that Dean truly needed his tactical skills. He thought was much more likely that Dean just wanted to keep an eye on his recreational habits.

“Damn, self-righteous asshole!” Cas muttered to himself as he stomped to his cabin.

     Though Dean had previously been labeled as the righteous man, now the only righteous thing Cas saw in Dean was his indignation at Castiel’s life choices. All Cas wanted was to keep his head down and to try to make the best of his now human existence. Of course Dean  _ would _ have a problem with whatever… or whomever… Cas chose to do.

Rushing under the towering pines Cas thought that since he never voiced  _ his _ opinions about  _ Dean’s _ various hairbrained, and sometimes not-brained, exploits the least Dean could do was keep his opinions to himself. Of course, that never really was Dean’s style.

Before everything went to shit, Cas recalled, Dean would speak his mind.

Cas reminisced about Dean confronting him in heaven—Dean had punched him in the face. Cas smiled at the memory. Dean had stood up for what he believed in and would never have betrayed the people closest to him or his ideals for any reason. These newer protestations aimed at Cas were petty hecklings compared to the life altering ideologic revelations Dean had once forced upon him.

     “What the fuck!?” Cas growled to himself as he opened the door to his cabin and slammed it shut behind him.

     Thinking back on his experiences with Dean, clothing and sex were insignificant factors in his life. He was a man of simple tastes who enjoyed cheap beer, good pie, and whatever pretty person would go home with him for the night. To quote a movie that—pre-Apocalypse—had been one of Dean’s favorites, Cas “f[ou]nd [Dean’s] lack of faith disturbing.” Without relatively frequent expressions of Dean’s thoughts and morals regarding an imminent threat and how they should dispatch of it, Dean became a brooding, evasive presence. The only conclusion Cas could draw was that Dean must be keeping something really tightly under wraps.

     Comparing the length of time Dean had been out of sorts to the leader’s overall personality, Cas decided Dean had to have told someone about whatever it was or else it would’ve escaped in an expression of anger by now.

     He just didn’t tell me… Cas realized.

     Now, with Sam gone and Lucifer destroying the world Dean’s consequential thoughts were further from Castiel’s reach than they had ever been.

     So why not get higher than a kite during the day, blackout drunk at night, and fill whatever time is left with sensual pleasures? Cas thought bitterly.

     There had been a time when the pair shared meaningful glances, laughed together, fought side by side. Over their years together, an undeniable love for the man with occasional unguarded smiles, green eyes, and a galaxy of faint freckles sprinkled across his features had grown within Castiel. Even as the world crumbled around them and Sam made his choice in Detroit, Dean still had Cas, and Cas still had Dean. Somewhere in there Cas recalled losing his grace. Soon after Sam’s demise, Dean started a descent into shadow. He no longer cared about the Impala, and, seemingly, no longer cared about the people around him either. As the connection between Dean and Cas grew more tenuous and strained Dean reminded Cas of how a person might act if they were missing their soul. Now, Dean fought against Cas. Issues were raised about things as obsolete as clothing for fuck’s sake! The man who had once taught Castiel how to think for himself and helped ground him in hard times was just an empty, cold shell of his former self—a kind of war machine. And yet...

     I still love him, Cas thought, a tear born of frustration rolling down his cheek.

     And Castiel, even now, held onto a ludicrous shred of hope that Dean, though he never even hinted at harboring such thoughts about Castiel, might somehow feel the same way.

_      “Fuck _ , I’m an idiot,” Cas mumbled as he sank to his knees in the middle of the floor.

     Castiel pulled up a loose floorboard, to uncover his stash. Opiates, hallucinogens, amphetamines—Castiel had them all. Grabbing a random bottle, Cas popped open the cap and threw a couple pills in his mouth without reading the label. He swallowed them down dry, returned the floorboard to its proper place, and reclined onto the floor, waiting for the drugs to carry him away. 


End file.
